


Communication Skills

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: "really Crowley how oblivious can you possibly be my dear"), ("not that i should have to bother with this i think but. well. when needs must I suppose", (visibly fat and perfect just how he is hi my fat people how are you today ilu), Ableist Language, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Fluff, I forgot that tag I'm sorry, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Mostly just silly fluff in the form of miscommunication, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Pining, Post-Canon, Requited Unrequited Love, but silly miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: It's become apparent to Aziraphale that there has been some fundamental miscommunication between himself and Crowley as to the nature of their relationship.  Unfortunately, Crowley keeps running away every time he tries to set the record straight.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 124
Kudos: 530
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Good Omens (Complete works)





	Communication Skills

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome (or welcome back, how have you been) to the Soft Zone(TM)!
> 
> Please enjoy this canonverse story where Crowley loves Aziraphale, and Aziraphale loves Crowley, and Aziraphale think it's all very lovely... until he realizes someone didn't get a memo somewhere along the way. I originally set out for 100% silly fluff, because I think we could use some softness and silliness these days, but I'm not sure I quite made it. There is definitely much more fluff than sad, though. Much, much more fluff.
> 
> A portion of the plot is inspired by a prompt left by user RangerDanger985 on the Soft Omens Snuggle House discord -- I was already writing this, and then realized that the prompt would fit in _delightfully_. The actual prompt itself is provided in the end notes, because I don't use it until relatively far along in the story, so it's a bit of a spoiler!
> 
> The word "fat" is used in Aziraphale's internal narration as a positive descriptor. This ethereal!Aziraphale picked his corporation on purpose (per a Neil Gaiman post quite a while ago stating that angels and demons look the way they do on Earth because they want to), and has seen absolutely no reason to change it in six thousand years.
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is visibly fat. Tumblr and AO3 user Squeegeelicious has created [this absolutely gorgeous artwork](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for) for my first human AU [If Not Now, When](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816), which should help you know what to visualize as you read!

It had become apparent, of late, that there was some fundamental miscommunication between the pair of them.

Crowley stopped by the bookshop nearly every other day. A variety of excuses would bring him through the door with tickets to a show, or a random bit of news, or some flavorful treat. And once the offering had been delivered, he’d linger. His eyes, tucked away behind those glasses of his, might well be looking anywhere — might be closed, as he napped on the sofa or in a chair or sprawled in an unlikely tangle of limbs against a shelf — but Aziraphale rather thought they had a target. He rather thought Crowley was looking at _him_.

Watching him as he went about his day. Staring at him across the back room as they enjoyed a bottle of something nice. His face pinched, sometimes, with the strength of some emotion too large to hide. He’d always assume nonchalance when he caught Aziraphale noticing, deflecting with a joke or non-sequitur.

The penny finally dropped one rainy winter’s day, the two of them just returning from a lovely meal. They’d had to run through the wet from the Bentley to the shop door, laughing and grumbling with the frenzied rush of it. Aziraphale had unlocked the door, then had found Crowley’s arm suddenly around his broad waist, guiding him inside to safety.

For a second or two, that arm pulled Aziraphale very close. Crowley had leaned down, until their foreheads were nearly touching, until Aziraphale could feel laughing gusts of breath on his face, and could see the way Crowley’s grin turned tender... _yearning_...

Then every line of Crowley’s face went stark with tension. He was across the room before Aziraphale knew quite what had happened, and for the rest of the evening he barely smiled at all.

That was when Aziraphale finally realized their miscommunication. Crowley was in love with him. Quite deeply in love, desperately, even; so much so that he couldn’t stay away, that if he let his guard slip then it would show itself, piled up over years and centuries and spilling from him with every motion, every gentle smile and every wondering touch.

Crowley was in love with him and trying to hide it. Not very successfully, after the whole Apocalypse mess.

Aziraphale was definitely going to have a talk with him about all this nonsense.

Hadn’t the idiot realized by now that Aziraphale was in love with him, too?

* * *

It rained for two more days, but the third dawned clear and bracingly cold. Crowley sauntered in just before noon with word of a new restaurant to try.

“Sort of a Thai-Peruvian fusion,” he drawled in his warm voice. “Don’t ask me how it works, but apparently it does.”

Aziraphale had spent the last two days trying to decide how to approach the matter of their misunderstanding. He could, of course, simply throw himself into Crowley’s arms — or perhaps gently lob himself, since his corporation was so much heavier than Crowley’s, and he hardly wanted to bowl the poor thing over — except, well, there was a _reason_ he’d not done that already. Being in love was hardly an excuse to be so undignified.

“Crowley, dear,” he began, having decided that a rational discussion of the subject should produce a satisfying conclusion. “I was wondering, actually, whether we might sit down to discuss our relationship.”

Crowley looked at him for a moment — or, at least, pointed the sunglasses in his direction.

“Discuss. Our, uh.”

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly.

“Oh!” Crowley said, much too loud. “I forgot. Got a, yeah, a thing. Have to talk later.”

“But the restaurant...?”

That stopped Crowley, already halfway back to the door. He looked back over his shoulder, and the lines around his mouth were carved deep. “Sorry, angel. I — I can’t. Not —”

The bell over the door jangled in his wake.

“Bother,” Aziraphale said.

* * *

The next time Crowley came by was almost a week later. Bold as ever, handsome face wearing a lazy smirk.

Good Lord, Aziraphale had _held_ that face. Cupped a cheek in his own round hand. “I don’t think I could bear to lose you,” he’d said, his voice echoing around the confines of Crowley’s flat. “So I simply won’t. You will come back to me. And I to you.”

Crowley’s hand had covered his, thumb brushing over his skin. Crowley had whispered Aziraphale’s name, and then that other name, the one that was only a word when anyone else said it.

A clear confession on both their parts, Aziraphale had thought, and nothing left to interpretation. They could set their own pace now. Simply sitting in the same room together was a quiet expression of their love — except Crowley had missed that particular memo, and his pining was really becoming ridiculous.

The rational discussion angle hadn’t worked. Perhaps something more direct?

“Chocolates,” Crowley announced now, tossing a ribbon-wrapped box onto the counter. “Supposed to be the best in Lisbon.”

Aziraphale hid a smile. The box was embossed with a design of hearts, of roses. Poor Crowley, thinking he had to try to be subtle. “You went to Lisbon for chocolates?”

“Wuh, uh.” Crowley’s head jerked away. “Had business, didn’t I? Important stuff. And, and it’s not like Googling for local chocolatemakers is _work_. Not a fan of work these days, you know that.” Perhaps he meant to appear nonchalant as he leaned his sinuous body against a bookcase. “Sloth. That’s the ticket.”

“Of course.”

Crowley relaxed the tiniest bit.

Now would be a good time. Set the record straight, and then see whether Crowley would be amenable to an embrace, or even a kiss. Aziraphale still remembered how it felt when Crowley’s arm had wrapped around him last week. He was very soft, very fat, and judging from the way that arm had squeezed, Crowley appreciated this very much — perhaps enough to be willing to hold him again. With both arms, this time.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

Aziraphale looked into the sunglasses, trying to imagine the eyes beneath them. So beautiful, they were, golden and shining. How joyfully they would look back at him, once he made Crowley understand.

“I love you.”

Crowley’s mouth opened, just a little, expression going soft, eyebrows rising above his glasses —

Then it all shut down again. His mouth twisted. “Course. Got love for everything, right? All creatures great and small. Even demons, I guess.”

He pushed off from the bookcase, circling closer, although not quite close enough to touch. One long finger pushed the chocolates across the counter. “Anyway. If you want them. Although maybe you don’t.”

“Crowley, dear, wait —”

He was gone again, though. Out the door, his usual saunter absent.

Aziraphale sighed at the chocolates, then put them carefully away. They wouldn’t taste as good without Crowley there. They were Crowley’s love, handed out freely all these many years in gifts and favors and endless, endless patience, and they would wait until Crowley came back again.

Crowley always came back again. It was part of what made him Crowley.

* * *

Weeks before Crowley returned, this time, and when he did, it was with news of an interesting museum exhibit. “Some recently-rediscovered da Vinci curiosities,” he said lazily, limbs gangling every direction on Aziraphale’s sofa. “Remember those sketches of the sort of speedboat?”

“I remember you being a terrible influence, yes.” Aziraphale told his mouth to frown, even though he knew the rest of his face would never play along. “I can’t imagine the number of waterborne collisions there would have been if those designs had actually _worked_.”

“Ahhh,” Crowley scoffed, looking much too pleased with himself. “Would’ve been fine. Much faster way to travel, too. Probably save us a horse ride or three over the years.”

“Oh. Hmm. When you put it that way...”

Crowley grinned at him. “Anyway,” he said, “figure if you’re interested, we could make a day of it. Museum, lunch, maybe stroll some parks we haven’t been to in a while.”

He sat up somewhat, as he spoke, and now there was perhaps enough room for Aziraphale to sit next to him. Yes — just barely, squeezing in cozily there by his side. All of Aziraphale’s softness pressed gently to Crowley’s slender body, hip and thigh and the side of Aziraphale’s belly, as he let himself lean into his beloved.

“I would like that very much,” Aziraphale murmured. “It sounds like a lovely time.”

Tension thrummed through Crowley’s body, but it faded as Aziraphale began to lower his head to his shoulder. Crowley’s arm, flung over the back of the sofa, shifted, sliding down to circle Aziraphale’s own shoulders. The quivering fingers stroked once, gently.

“Aziraphale?” Half-choked, that word. Full of emotion, and of disbelief, although that should clear any moment. “Aziraph —”

The arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders retreated. Crowley pulled away, actually removing his sunglasses for the first time in ages, staring at Aziraphale with eyes that were wide and tremulous.

When Aziraphale reached for him, he did not quite leap up from the sofa.

“Hang on, this isn’t...” The sunglasses went back on. “I know you don’t —”

“My dear fellow, _please_ , this is absolutely absurd —”

A wild little laugh sprung from Crowley’s throat. “Think I don’t know that by now?”

The twinge in Aziraphale’s heart must have shown on his face, because Crowley stumbled back another step. The sound that fell from his throat did not resemble any words of which Aziraphale was aware.

“Crowley, don’t,” he begged, rising from the sofa. Meaning _Don’t go, don’t run away, you foolish thing; I do believe I’ve been falling in love with you since we knew da Vinci, and oh, maybe earlier — there were Arrangements and there were oysters and there was you, so strange and so lovely under my wing, there in that first rain —_

But all he had time for was those two words, _Crowley_ and _don’t_ , and then Crowley’s slender hand was on the door.

“Swear I’ll quit bollocksing things up. We’ll have lunch. Go to the Ri — go somewhere you enjoy, anywhere you want t —”

He flinched from his own words, and this was _appalling_ , when they were _both in love with each other_ and Aziraphale couldn’t seem to get that point across.

He’d locked the door without really thinking about it, turning the bolt with the smallest miracle, but it opened for Crowley all the same. Once again, Aziraphale watched him flee into the Soho streets.

* * *

Days rolled into weeks, then into months. It was nothing compared to how things had been once, of course — there had been whole centuries they’d not seen each other, sometimes, which was something Aziraphale couldn’t fathom now. It was certainly not something he was willing to repeat.

Crowley didn’t come by, though, and he didn’t answer his phone, and he didn’t answer his door when Aziraphale knocked. The whole mess kept on going, when it could all be solved so simply if only Aziraphale could get him to _listen_. To just stand in one spot and have an actual conversation, one which Crowley couldn’t possibly flee before Aziraphale had made himself understood at last...

It was a ridiculous idea, of course, but the entire situation was ridiculous. Aziraphale would just about give up one of his first editions to kiss Crowley. He was well aware that Crowley felt just as strongly for him. Things just needed a little push to slot them both into place.

So it was that what started as an idle, peevish thought eventually led to Aziraphale in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, extraordinarily rare edition of the Book Of Eibon in one hand, and a circular pattern chalked with neat precision on his floor.

He glared toward the circle before he began, although his true target was some distance away. “You’re really only bringing this on yourself,” he said. “I do hope you’ll keep that in mind.”

The words of the spell were harsh and tearing in his throat; he didn’t know how an actual human could be expected to speak such ghastly sounds. A sort of thrumming built up around him as he worked, tossing appropriate substances into the circle as they were called for, making certain gestures. The lights flickered, then went out. There was the faint smell of copper.

The final gesture was the most important. A quick swirl of Aziraphale’s hand, tracing the spell's occult fire in the air — a symbol that represented his goal, although it did not name it. The spell would not recognize the real name.

“Now, _do_ get over here,” Aziraphale finished, and with that statement of intent, the process was complete. The chalk circle erupted in flames of no Earthly color. A thunderous crack, a fleeting wind, and the painful lurch of a sudden pressure change —

From the other side of the flames came a low growl.

The summoning had worked.

Aziraphale set the book aside. It had further instructions, things like how to manage the wrath of the called-up demon, how to release it without having it immediately turn on one. He wouldn’t be needing any of that here.

“Summoned me,” said his visitor. The flames were starting to die back, and Aziraphale could see a figure rise from the floor. It swayed menacingly as it stood, hands held in claws at the end of long, wiry arms. “Done your homework, too. Usually a way out of the circle, some idiot’s pulled instructions off the Internet after they’ve been scanned from a twelfth-generation xerox, half the sigils are blurred to nothing, it’s honestly a little embarrassing. But you’ve got me locked up, all right.” A sickly glint on sharp teeth. “So. What d’you need a demon for?”

The flames were merely a pulsing glow of the circle, now. Aziraphale stepped forward, pulling down a little miracle as he did so, and the room was filled with light.

“I want to _talk_ , Crowley.”

“ _Angel?!_ ”

Crowley fell back, although not so far as to run up against the other side of the circle. His sunglasses were off, no sign of them anywhere, and his beautiful eyes were wide and fully yellow. They blinked, as though that might change what they were seeing.

“The heaven’s going on, Aziraphale?”

“I promise this isn’t anything — anything _sinister_. I truly just want to talk.” Aziraphale realized, very abruptly, that Crowley appeared to be dressed for bed. Those had to be pyjamas, loose and flowing and nothing like the absurd trousers he favored during the day. There was something oddly vulnerable about him like this, attired for comfort and rest, his lovely hair tousled without any artifice at all... “I suppose it might have been... less than convenient, as a way to start a conversation. But you haven’t answered your phone in months.”

Crowley grunted. “Was asleep.”

“Yes, I... I see.”

An awkward silence gathered. Aziraphale clasped his hands against his belly, feeling much more hesitant than he had expected, and Crowley looked down at the motion. Too late Aziraphale remembered his sleeves. He’d rolled them up so he wouldn’t get chalk on the cuffs, and his arms were still bare nearly to the elbows, wide and round and probably rather a distraction to the poor dear, if Aziraphale was right that Crowley’s feelings included the aesthetic as much as did Aziraphale’s for him...

Something in Crowley’s eyes softened, and when he looked back up at Aziraphale’s face, it was obvious why he still insisted on those glasses. He’d never be able to hide his love without them.

“Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, pulling his hands behind his back. He stepped up to the edge of the circle. “I need to tell you something, Crowley, and I need you to listen.”

Now Crowley’s eyes looked haunted. “Don’t have to. I already know — it’s fine, this is on me, you never have to —”

“Would you just _listen_ ,” Aziraphale snapped, “I keep _trying_ to _tell_ you that I am in _love_ with you!”

This silence didn’t last nearly as long.

“You what,” Crowley said.

He stood almost casually on the inside of the summoning circle, although Aziraphale could hardly fail to notice the tension in his thin shoulders. His lip trembled, just a little. His eyes were very bright.

Aziraphale reached up to straighten his bow tie. “I’m in love with you,” he said again. And Crowley didn’t run away, because he couldn’t run away; he was bound to the inside of the summoning circle, and he’d have to hear whatever Aziraphale had to say.

“I want you to hold me, darling. You did after lunch that day, do you remember? In the rain?”

Crowley’s throat worked for a moment. “I remember.”

“I want to hold _you_. I would like very much to kiss you, and to have you kiss me back. I think it would be lovely. Don’t you think it would be lovely?”

One sharp nod. “Yeah. Yep. It, uh. You really...?”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “That’s all I wanted to tell you, my treasure. I couldn’t stand your not knowing anymore.”

Crowley began to smile. “You love me.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale stepped forward. He dragged one foot through the summoning circle as he went, and the thin glow winked out instantly, the marks only chalk again. The demon within was no longer contained. He was free, now, to wreak whatever havoc he desired; to even fall upon his summoner, if that was his wish.

Crowley was on Aziraphale in less than a breath. Long arms flung out, tightening around Aziraphale’s waist with shocking force, pulling him so close that the very idea of escape was laughable. The sharp face buried itself against the tender flesh of Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale stroked his hand through Crowley’s beautiful hair.

“Beloved,” he murmured, and Crowley shook.

They stood together in the broken circle for a time, until it seemed almost blasphemous to draw back from their embrace. Aziraphale only did it to make Crowley raise his head, though. He smiled up into those perfect yellow eyes.

“Do we understand each other now, my only?”

“Angel. Pretty angel.” Crowley leaned down until their foreheads were nearly touching, then uttered a deep sigh. “Think we understand each other fine.”

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek in his own round hand. “May I kiss you now?”

Crowley kissed him first.

* * *

It was amazing, what a bit of clear communication could do.

Crowley stopped by the bookshop nearly every day lately. He’d come bursting in, sometimes bringing tickets to a show, or a random bit of news, or some flavorful treat. Many times, he brought nothing at all. He’d find Aziraphale wherever he was in the shop, and pull him into arms that were warm and sure. Kiss him on top of the head, or under the chin, or right on the lips; he seemed to follow no set pattern, but Aziraphale couldn’t imagine minding. 

Crowley would kiss him, and murmur “Hello, my angel,” and then drop off whatever morsel he might have to share before settling in to linger for the rest of the day. And his gorgeous eyes would be on Aziraphale. Only ever for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was thinking about it one beautiful summer’s day, as the two of them wandered through the park. They’d held hands, at first, but at some point he had found Crowley’s arm easing about his waist, pulling him very close. It was a favorite of Crowley’s, that particular arrangement: long arm curved around Aziraphale’s back, hand resting on the side of his belly. His appreciation for Aziraphale — for all of him, just as he was, including his soft, fat corporation — had been made clear very quickly after Aziraphale had summoned him to their little talk.

“You,” Aziraphale remarked now, snuggling closer to him, “are terribly sentimental.”

“Can’t be,” Crowley answered, “demon.” Voice tender, like his smile. Like his hand on Aziraphale’s side.

“Sentimental demon.”

They’d reached a patch of dappled shade, and Aziraphale stopped, pulling them to the side of the path, wrapping his own arms around Crowley’s waist.

“Sentimental, besotted demon,” he clarified, tipping his head up for a kiss. “Whom I love very, very much.”

Crowley’s eyes weren’t visible, behind his glasses, but they’d be shining now. Golden and beautiful, and full of understanding. Full of joy.

“Know that perfectly well, my angel.” Barely a murmur, as he bent to deliver that kiss. “Definitely worked it out by now.”

**Author's Note:**

> The text of the prompt provided by Soft Omens Snuggle House user RangerDanger985 is: "Demons can be summoned. Crowley is a demon..... what if crowley slinks off somewhere for some reason napping most likely and instead of looking zira draws a circle folds his hands and next thing ya know poof, demon in the circle!"
> 
> The Book Of Eibon is a fictional ancient tome of eldritch import, kind of like the Necronomicon, except it was invented by Clark Ashton Smith instead of H P Lovecraft. I picked it 100% because of Jill and Asenath Armitage trying to summon up monstrous boyfriends with it in [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYjCIor2C7E) from [A Shoggoth On The Roof](https://store.hplhs.org/collections/filk/products/a-shoggoth-on-the-roof-cast-album-cd).
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one. I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. 
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too.
> 
> I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored ([and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people))! I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation). Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: ([beautiful fanart created for me by Squeegeelicious](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for)) ([speremint 1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how)) Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!
> 
> I hope you're having a fantastic day.


End file.
